


Vignettes

by straylize



Series: Royalty/Retainer AU [2]
Category: Persona 3, Persona 5, Persona Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Ficlet Collection, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Multi, Nostalgia, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Royalty/Retainer AU, Vignette
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-06-05 06:35:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15164777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/straylize/pseuds/straylize
Summary: A collection of ficlets based in the Royalty/Retainer AU. These are written as follower incentives and bonuses for the AU'stumblr, and will be generally be updated based on meeting those goals. Each chapter captures a small moment within the universe, and will focus on different characters and themes.





	1. Gloves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gloves are meant to shield ones hands, but they also carry secrets of their own.
> 
> Written for the 100 follower bonus, from the poll-winning prompt of "Goro Akechi."

Lunchtime in the Arisato Palace was a time when most who were always at the top of their game would finally relax. Though their breaks were staggered to ensure palace security was tight, the forty-five minutes those guards had to relax was always embraced. The heaviest pieces of armor could be set aside, and for those who worked the more agile security detail, their gloves came off as well.

Save for two people.

One such person was Goro Akechi; he served as one of Minato’s closest guards, and had been serving for the past nine years, under Minato’s direct approval to do so. On this particular day, he’d been sitting alone in the staff dining area. In one gloved hand, he held a spoon, in the other, a book. Though he maintained a friendly, amicable relationship with the other guards, this wasn’t uncommon for him at all. He wasn’t the sort to get close to people—most didn’t know very much about him at all beyond his visible dedication to his work. That sort of guarded existence prevented anyone from ever knowing why he never bothered to remove them—though it was easy to assume he was like the other that never removed their gloves.

That other person was Akira Kurusu. For Akira, who led the royal security and tended to the king personally as his retainer, it was expected that he would rarely take his gloves off. He hardly ever took his _shoes_ off. He didn’t sleep often, he never took personal days or any time for himself; he was a workhorse, and that often meant that taking the time to remove his gloves while he ate was time wasted. He didn’t have time to waste, so he elected not to.

On this day, it was Akira who hovered over the table where Akechi sat, peering down at him through his spectacles and keeping his own vision guarded. He was wary about Akechi—even after nine years of loyal service, there was just something about him that Akira couldn't shake. An unsettling feeling he couldn’t place, and therefore couldn’t act on, because he had no justifiable reason to. Nine years ago, he had advised Minato against letting someone with a dubious background carry such an important role. They’d already dealt with one traitor in their midst—one that had cost the lives of their families and left them in shambles. But Minato was a kind soul and a benevolent king, and seeing an earnest young man seeking to serve them was hard for him to say no to.

It created a bit of a divide. Akechi always did his best to be amiable, and Akira always seemed to prod and try to get answers out of Akechi that seemingly didn’t exist. Or, if they did, he was masterful at never letting it show.

“If you have time to sit and eat your meal, shouldn’t you take your gloves off to prevent soiling them?” It seemed to be an innocent enough question, but Akira had his reasons. He was more than aware of nearly every movement in the palace, and he wasn’t blind to the fact that not a single soul had ever actually witnessed Akechi’s bare hands. Even when he shared quarters with another soldier, it seemed he kept that obscured, and Akira could never shake that suspicion.

“That’s a bit of an ironic question, isn’t it?” Akechi’s tone was kind, but Akira couldn’t shake the sense of condescension that came from it. His smile was sly and almost cat-like, and that was something else that just irritated Akira. Naturally, Akechi made no moves to remove his gloves, though he placed his book down on the table for a moment to tap his chin thoughtfully. “I hope you’re not projecting something unsavory on me, Colonel. After all… you’re still wearing your gloves too.”

It was unfortunate, but Akira knew he was right. He couldn’t call that out when he was the very same, even if Akira had no secretive reason for keeping his gloves on. His shirt, perhaps, but that wasn’t the topic here and he had no intention of letting it shift that way. Instead, he lifted his hand to reveal an apple.

“I doubt it’ll be a problem for me. Be mindful of your uniform when eating your soup; it would be disgraceful to greet His Majesty with any stains on it.”

Irritating. It was an irritating situation to Akira, but he couldn’t spare any more time on it with the knowing he had a lead to chase on another case entirely. So with those words spoken, Akira turned on his heels and reminded Akechi to be prompt in his absence.

What Akira didn’t see, though, was the expression on Akechi’s face when his back was turned. He didn’t see the sneer as Akechi dropped his spoon in the nearly-empty bowl. He didn’t see the way Akechi moved to adjust his gloves, or how his face contorted slightly with discomfort as he stretched his right hand out.

“I _wonder_ , Kurusu…” He murmured to himself as his lips curved upward; he clenched that hand into a very loose fist and cocked his head to one side. “If you’re getting warm enough to put together the pieces before the ten-year mark.”

A chuckle, faint and quiet, as he stretched the hand out once more. “Because I’m not giving you an extension when time’s up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original post and accompanying art can be seen [here! __](https://persona-rrau.tumblr.com/post/175525797128/100-follower-poll-winner-artfic-goro-akechi)


	2. Nostalgia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Akira and Minato share a moment together in the early morning hours; Minato learns something new about Akira, and Akira reminisces on what brought him to this moment.

The winters in Bufula were cold—but the summers weren’t exactly balmy, either. Though it was midway through the eight month of the year, the lake located just east of Kirijo Manor was frozen solid. The day was young, just past sunrise, and thanks to that, it was barren. Save for the sounds of morning doves cooing in the trees, it was nearly silent.

And for that reason, it was a perfect time for Minato and Akira to take to the ice. Minato had been adamant that as they had planned their trip to the Kirijan capital for a political summit—he wanted to skate at least once. The temperate weather of Oratorio and the regions surrounding it made it difficult for him to do anytime beyond trips to the cold north. Akira, of course, was compelled to oblige, despite his discomfort with the attire for skating they owned. It was Minato’s request, and therefore, he had to make sure it would work.

Even if that meant skating at sunrise, so that nobody would catch the King while he was vulnerable.

…And maybe, just maybe so they could have a moment to themselves. Stolen like many when they left the capital, though what that entailed could never really be predicted.

“We’ve arrived,” Akira stated the words simply; it was an obvious statement, but one he was obligated to make in this scenario.

Minato offered a nod in response, but before they could edge any closer to the ice, he paused, allowing for his head to tilt to one side. He looked over Akira curiously (and perhaps, he knew, a bit self-indulgently, for he looked different in the best possible way in their skating attire) before following up with a question.

“Akira, do you even know how to ice skate?”

The question could have been perceived as rude thanks to Minato’s quiet, dry tone; Akira knew that it was a sincere question, though. Akira didn’t often go anywhere without Minato, and in the past, Akira had never shown much aptitude for skating, nor did he show an interest at any point in the past. It was a bit of a curious matter to him, because for all that he knew Akira would likely just recklessly go out onto the ice without knowing what he was doing, he had no interest in seeing his retainer get hurt over something so trivial.

Akira, for his part, though, seemed far more confident than Minato would have expected. His lips curved upward into a rarely seen smug smile as he pushed his spectacles up on the bridge of his nose.

“Naturally, my lord,” He hummed, and Minato was able to feel a faint warmth rising to his cheeks. Akira spoke like that so infrequently in his presence in recent years that he’d nearly forgotten how he used to always be ruled by his own fearlessness. Years of discipline and necessity had changed that a bit—yet still, it was warming to hear that tone from him and know it still existed somewhere. “There’s nothing you wish to do that I am unable to partake in as well.”

Minato offered a quiet, acknowledging hum as he motioned toward the bench at lakeside; they had to put their skates on, though Akira wasted no time in guiding him to sit and tend to switching his shoes out for skates.

“When did you learn? I’ve never seen you skate.” The question was quiet, innocent, curious. As Akira kneeled in the snow and began to lace up Minato’s skates—slowly, carefully, and thoroughly as to ensure they were completely secure—a small, fond smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“It was a part of my training, of course,” Akira was capable of lying with ease. He did so often, especially when it meant keeping Minato’s worries at ease. “Do you remember, my lord? When we were twelve, I accompanied Mother here to Bufula for work. I was gone for three weeks.”

Minato remembered it, of course. Back in a time before formalities, when they stopped using childish nicknames to seem more mature, but still spoke to each other casually. Back then, Akira would have long days of combat training and end the night by sneaking into Minato’s room, where they’d huddle up by the candlelight to read adventure stories that came from the palace library. They’d talk about their dreams of adventure and derring-do, of fighting the dragons they were sure rested in the Dusk Forest to the northwest.  They would laugh and shirk responsibilities for just a little while, and back then, Minato didn’t worry when Akira came back a little bruised.

Back then, he couldn’t tell the difference between Akira’s truths and his lies. He would lay claim to being tired, all the while hiding the beatings he took for refusing to comply with the kingdom’s decrees. He would smile, and Minato couldn’t see the melancholy or the pain.

It wasn’t like the present. Not now, where Minato could see through Akira like a sheet of glass. Akira smiled as he spoke, but what he knew was that Akira was lying, at least to some degree.

And he wasn’t wrong. Back then, Akira had begged to be able to go to Bufula. He wanted to learn to skate, because Minato spoke of wanting to do it, and Akira wanted to be sure he could keep up with his best friend.

Not his lord, not the king, not the prince. Just his best friend.

He had created an entire presentation to the elder Kurusu that the prince expressed an interest in such things, and therefore it was his duty to learn how to ice skate. It was certainly a flimsy argument, but his father had seen it as a learning opportunity—if nothing else, Akira showed dedication and loyalty to Minato, despite his casual demeanor and insolence when it came to the rules. And so Akira was permitted to spend three weeks in the frozen metropolis, accompanied by his mother. The son of the Kirijo’s retainer and future heir to the position, Akihiko Sanada, and his commoner friend Shinjiro Aragaki had taught him; they’d spent those weeks ensuring that Akira could skate as well as Minato would have been taught. When Akira returned to the capital, he never spoke of it, only calling it training.

It took thirteen years, but that training was finally ready to be put into practice.

And though Minato knew he was lying, he didn’t press Akira for the truth. His smile may have been fond and nostalgic, but it lacked the tone and presence that indicated Akira was hiding anything troublesome from him.

“I remember. It was… very quiet, those nights.” Minato responded softly; that much was true. He had missed Akira every day, reading those books and missing the commentary of Akira’s grandiose ideas of adventure.

Akira let out a quiet hum of his own as he set Minato’s foot on the ground before he shifted to take the seat beside him. He wasn’t as thorough about his own skates; he made quick work of lacing them up before he pulled himself to his feet once more.

“I suppose you don’t have many of those now, so you should remember them fondly,” Akira dismissed that loneliness they’d both quietly felt as he held out a hand to assist Minato in standing.

“Though it looks as if you’ll have a quiet morning. Shall we, my lord?”

Minato nodded, smile gentle as he placed the palm of his hand against Akira’s. A touch bigger than his, it was warm; he could feel Akira’s natural heat emanating through their gloves, and though the contact wasn’t direct, it was something he elected to treasure, so he could look back on that much more fondly than the lonely nights they’d been apart as kids.

“As long as I’m allowed to laugh if you fall. Thirteen years means you’re probably pretty rusty, Akira.”

A gentle quip came from Minato, and in response, Akira held back his own sharp tongue; instead, he guided Minato toward the surface of the icy lake so they could have their fleeting, quiet morning, before things would certainly revert to the formalities and tensions they so often had to deal with.


	3. Clandestine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Akira returns to the palace after a long and trying day—to find Minato ready and waiting in his room for a secret tryst.
> 
> Written for our 200 follower bonus, based on the poll-winning prompt "Pegokita first time."

Akira never got drunk. **  
**

It was a policy of his that he held tightly to; he could never allow himself to be incapacitated in a way that would keep him from carrying out his duty. If he were to get drunk, he wouldn’t be able to protect Minato properly.

But not getting  _drunk_  didn’t mean that he never drank at all. There were nights, nights like this particular one where it was necessary. Akira had left early in the day to chase a lead on a potential threat.  _Potential_  had turned into  _confirmation_ , and when his gloves were stained with the blood of those that threatened to take the life of the sun in his sky, he couldn’t just go back to the palace. Instead, on days like that, he awaited nightfall to sit in a quiet corner of Tavern Leblanc, where he could tug away at his bloodstained gloved and have a beer while his adrenaline evened out.

A beer or two. Maybe three. Enough to take the edge off, and then he would always sneak back to his room via the underground passageways. Minato was usually asleep by that point, but rather than risk disturbing him, it was far easier to use the Kurusu’s secret escape routes that he’d long since memorized to make his way back to his room. There, he’d be able to dispose of his gloves, wash away the blood—scrub at every skin and every scar until he could feel clean enough to not be a disgrace in front of Minato, and then sleep off the guilt that came with all he had done through the day.

But on this particular day, that wasn’t an option.

Akira squeezed himself through the tiny entrance that was stowed behind his dresser; as he pushed the heavy wooden furniture to one side to give himself room, he was met with a surprising sight. The room was dimly lit by candle, and at the very edge of his bed, sitting prim and proper, was Minato.

“My… lord?” Bemused, Akira froze in place. He wasn’t in any position to serve Minato right now, and if he was in the room at that hour… had he caused Minato to worry? Had he failed in his duty?

“…I couldn’t sleep.” Minato admitted softly, and Akira understood those implications. He’d had a nightmare, presumably about the past, and he’d wanted company. Akira always indulged him on those nights. Often, it meant holding Minato’s hand, or pulling him into an embrace to ensure his calm. But never had Minato come into his room, looking for him, waiting. “I didn’t realize you weren’t here. So I thought I’d wait.”

Akira’s breath hitched in his throat; there was a moment of hesitation that accompanied it. Guilt. Guilt for having not been there when he was supposed to serve Minato’s every need. Guilt, because he stood before Minato, slightly inebriated, scarred hands bare, blood staining his uniform and the gloves in his pocket. It was unsightly to present himself to the king this way.

“…My apologies. I’d have returned straight away had I realized you were in need. Allow me to clean up, and I’ll bring some tea to your quarters.”

Minato shook his head as he pushed himself to his feet. Akira made quick work to move the dresser back in place and obscure the passageway, but before he could finish, Minato reached out for Akira’s hand. Beneath his fingertips, he could feel the scars and markings. He was no fool; Minato knew how much blood was on those hands for his sake. He knew, too, that as much as Akira tried to remain unaffected, those acts hurt him. He was a kind person who had a duty that he was chained to. Akira was a prisoner of circumstance, and because of that, he had to go against his own morals for the sake of one person’s life.

“You worked hard today,”  _Those hands, they worked hard today._  Minato knew as well that Akira had been drinking. He knew a night like this, he would be a little less rigid. It wasn’t fair to ask for Akira, but Minato could see through his mask, and his own was feeling a bit cracked after another horrific nightmare. “I can just stay here.”

It was a bold proposition, and one that had Akira’s eyes instantly widening at the prospect. “My lord, I can’t—”

_…allow that_ , he wanted to say, but before he could, there was a warmth that washed over him. He was being silenced, and done so in a way that meant Minato’s lips were being pressed against his softly. It was hardly the first time Minato had kissed him. Every single time, Akira melted into it. When there were no eyes on them, it was the only time they could even consider being honest with themselves. So he always gave in for those fleeting moments.

“One night, Akira,” Minato spoke the words as softly as he ever spoke, though against his lips, Akira could feel the warmth of his breath. “What I want… is for you to let go. For one night…”

Minato paused, and while Akira was sure he knew what Minato was implying, he held his breath. He couldn’t turn down a request of his king.

And a request like that? He didn’t  _want_  to turn it down, either. They were nineteen and starved for affection. They were nineteen and a little broken. They were nineteen and they still had needs that they couldn’t act on whenever they felt the urge. Not when it was Minato, who was the center of his world, and the only one left in the in it that he had any love for. Yet still, he held his breath and waited to hear what it was he had to say.

“It’s dark in here,” Minato started, the non sequitur a bit strange to Akira’s ears, though he gave Minato another moment to collect his thoughts. “So I can’t see them. Your hands, I mean. I never see the things you do with them. I won’t see them now, either.”

The implication weighed heavy in the air. It was Minato acknowledging that Akira’s hands were bloodied and scared, but also that he didn’t care. That even if they were covered in the blood of enemies, Minato  _still_  wanted Akira to touch him with them. And as if to punctuate that statement, Minato twined their fingers together on the hand he had grabbed. Akira’s heart raced in his chest—

And though he couldn’t bring himself to say the words that sat on his tongue, though he couldn’t bring himself to be honest with his words, he hummed out a quiet sound before speaking.

“As you wish, my lord.” Gentle. Akira spoke the words gently, and though they were formal and commonplace for him, Minato knew that there was compliance from Akira’s weary heart. That sentiment was solidified as Akira leaned down to punctuate his own statement with a kiss. His hands trembled under Minato’s touch; he was almost uncharacteristically nervous. His body was more honest than his words, and that endeared Minato as much as everything else Akira did.

It was kiss after kiss until they were breathless; it was gentle touches and warm hums. It was the heat in the air as fabric rustled, and the barest squeaks that came from Akira’s hardly-used mattress as Akira laid him on the bed. Each moment followed another as the heat rose. Kisses turned to gentle nips, innocent touches became decidedly less so. There were moments of fumbling, of nervousness and lack of experience. There was sweat beading at hairlines and hair matting against skin. There were the quiet questions of concern, and muffled sounds of pleasure. For all that it was sweet, it was illicit, it was desperate, it was bittersweet. Fingertips rolling over old scars that couldn’t be seen in the dim light, kisses that followed, and when the writhing pleasure subsided, they were left tired. For a moment, they were a little less broken, wrapped in each other and embracing a brief moment where rank and duty didn’t matter.

But the sun would rise again, and when it did, they would elect not to acknowledge the night. They would part before anyone noticed, and when Akira entered his quarters the next morning, it would be business as usual, for he had a duty to fulfill. He could never disgrace his king by having anyone know that he’d been defiled by the man sworn to protect him—though the ones closest to them could hardly miss the way the air had changed around them, or how their touches somehow lingered even longer than they did previously.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The original post, and the matching art, can be seen [here](https://persona-rrau.tumblr.com/post/175935336528/200-follower-poll-winner-artfic-pegokita-first)!


End file.
